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Connecting the elements
Vincent Mantsoe at Zero Arrow
BY MARCIA B. SIEGEL


The greatest performing artists can totally submerge themselves in their material and totally project outward at the same time. Mikhail Baryshnikov did that. So did the butoh master Kazuo Ohno, and probably Martha Graham at the beginning of her career. The effect is contradictory and even somewhat uncanny: you feel the performer is communicating with you directly, even though you know you’re witnessing a persona summoned by artifice, or even possession.

The South African dancer Vincent Mantsoe, appearing for CRASHarts at Zero Arrow Theatre last weekend, can treat you like his comrade, even though his artistry is so phenomenal you can’t believe you’re in the same room with him. Besides encompassing the dual attributes of personal revelation and distanced virtuosity, Mantsoe’s dance is built on the whole of human experience. In his performance you encounter people, animals, nature; the jungle, the village, the city; the tribe and the individual; magic, memory, ritual, simple sensuality and sophisticated cultural forms. With the help of only a few props and lighting effects, he embodies them all right before your eyes.

In NDAA (Awakening of Self), he appeared at the outset as a highly charged but partly withdrawn presence. Held-in but reaching upward, he contracted even more, with an implosion of breath that projected his whole body a quarter-turn to the right. Having completed a cycle, he began his journey bent almost double, backing one step at a time into a forest of thin bamboo poles. Accompanied by African chants and drumming and, occasionally, the quiet but animated sound of Pygmies chatting together, he seemed to be dancing the forest.

Jumping with his arms winged out, he grew birdlike; he sniffed or chewed at his arm; he squatted and glanced around warily like a monkey. Maybe he was making his way through evolution. He could have been riding a horse. Later he could have been planting things, fighting off invisible enemies. Finally he stood downstage, shielding his face with one arm, and exhaled a series of loud huffs like the call of some voiceless animal. Water poured off his head — whether sweat, spit, or tears, we couldn’t tell.

One thing that’s clear about Mantsoe, despite the inarticulate cries, the dances of isolated body parts and uninhibited stamping, the cautious transit through the environment, is that he’s no primitive. He grew up in Soweto and trained in Johannesburg, combining native dance forms, modern dance, ballet, martial arts, and Asian influences into something he calls Afro-fusion. But his dance vocabulary is only part of what makes him so compelling.

With a powerful gaze, he creates make-believe characters, wraps himself in stories, and sometimes appeals directly to the audience, with instant effect. In Motswa Hole (Person from Far Away), a big bowl of water evokes a succession of images. First he sticks a tentative toe in it, moves away in a kind of invocation or appreciation, goes back, dunks his toe again. He bathes delightedly in a river of light streaming back from the bowl. He swims, becoming a fish, a frog, or some kind of water god.

Chiming, gamelan-like music is heard, and, half-kneeling by the bowl, he shows off with the sinuous arms of a Balinese kebyar dancer. He bathes himself, joyfully scooping out the water into big arcs that sparkle in the light. When he’s made a puddle around the bowl, he dances a mock tap chorus, making as much of a splash as possible.

Then he’s clowning, seducing the audience, inviting us to join his games. Finally he shovels handfuls of water from the floor back into the bowl, and comes out into the audience with it, sprinkling everyone nearby. The audience cringes and shrieks with delight. One man in the back stands up and yells, "Gimme! Gimme!"

Satisfied, Mantsoe returns to the stage, gathers up the dripping white tapes that have marked out his playing space, and exits stamping and talking, with the wrung-out tapes slung over his shoulders.


Issue Date: September 30 - October 6, 2005
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